Good Times Gonna Come
by Sammy41
Summary: A glimpse at the future lives of PC's most notorious and their children. First up, Kristina. Will include Molly, Morgan, Michael, Jasam's kids, Josslyn, Emma and others. Read and review, let me know what you like and who you want to see. Thanks.
1. No Coming Back

_So I'm a little behind on what exactly is going on with General Hospital but I've been pretty inspired to start writing again (and trust me with my writer's block I am jumping on anything that comes to mind). This is basically going to be a series of one shots..maybe...I don't know, probably just character studies. We'll see, I hope you find it interesting and stick with me. I'd say this is maybe ten years in the future which of course means a lot of characters have been SOARed. It's clearly not apparent now but later. Anyway hope to get some reviews, I'm really struggling to write this last year so any encouragement is greatly appreciated :) Thanks._

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**No Coming Back**

For Kristina, there had never been an escape. It was a curse of genetics, a relentless, tormented spirit that entered her at birth. Some fusion of Corinthos and Cassadine blood was certainly responsible for her frequently brash, impulsive, self-destructive decisions. Thunder echoed across the waterfront, rocking the Port Charles docks. She watched from the bullet proof windows, swirling her scotch.

The flashes of lightning on her face exposed dark pits of mahogany trouble and unkempt knots of brown hair. Her grip on the glass turned her knuckles white. There was no sleep for her. And with each grumble of the gray sky, her likeness to her father, the infamous Sonny Corinthos was palpable and undeniable. Across the city it wouldn't be surprising if he was in the same position, brooding, drinking, lonely. Of all the mob boss' children, surely it seemed unlikely that it would be his daughter who was most like him.

And yet here she was, trapped in the same world. Like a fool with something to prove she embraced it with near vengeance, as if choosing misery were the greatest pain she could bring her family. They'd begged her and she'd peered down only to say 'no.' Her mother – her poor, sickly, aging mother – had pleaded for weeks, tears streaming down her tired Russian face. Her brothers, selfish and blind as they were, told her it was unnecessary, stupid, and cold. Her sisters failed to convince her and her father only offered a simple plea: "There's no coming back from this choice."

Kristina finished her drink and slithered back over to the wet bar. She dropped ice into her glass and paused before grabbing more liquor. A year. She only lasted a year at Yale. It was the first of the many disappointments she'd brought home to her parents. Deep down she never wanted Yale. Deep down, however, she never wanted anything she'd chosen. Certainly not this life. Another flash of lightning glowed in the room, catching a glint of the dense diamond on her finger. She'd done it. In a white gown, in a Catholic church, in front of two witnesses, and with a few words, she did what they begged her not to.

She married John Zacchara.

They didn't love each other. Well, they said they did, but it was just words. He was good in bed. He was rich. He was handsome and charming and powerful. He was her father and in spite of herself, in spite of the Corinthos name, she married everything she wanted to get away from.

It wasn't to say that John treated her poorly. Even when she was young he treated her as a friend. As she grew into a woman though he was drawn like a moth to a flame. But together they were fire. He was a descendent of a mad man, of the crazed Anthony Zacchara. He was haunted by his grandfather's voice and when he didn't think she was listening he'd hiss at the echoes in his head and thrash in dreams of violence. Kristina was no better. Even now she refused to believe she could be prone to her father's emotional impairments. And yet on nights like this, with the pool of depression yanking her downward, she couldn't help but think perhaps she was just as troubled as her father. After all, this marriage of impulse and power was clearly a move of Corinthos proportions. Together they were catastrophe. There was too much madness between them for comfort. Her brother had killed his mother. He'd spent a lifetime trying to destroy her father. It was Sonny and Claudia all over again, except their matrimony had nothing to do with an alliance but rather simple vengeance.

"You're awake," he croaked. Kristina hadn't even heard him come in behind her.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied.

Johnny slowly peeled out from the shadows, sauntering to join her at the bar. His face was masked in stubble, his hair disheveled, and his dark eyes void of life. "I woke up and you were gone," he murmured.

"You were talking in your sleep," Kristina said, turning back to the storm.

"I thought maybe you were angry with me," Johnny glared. "About your brother."

"I don't think of my brother, you know that," Kristina replied. She scoffed, "You're paranoid."

Silence overtook them as it usually did. They went back to enjoying the company of their own demons. Even when they were together they existed in such distinctly different realities that their marriage seemed like a hoax. At first it was a thrill. The danger and the passion and newness of being married sustained them. Three months later and the initial spark was gone. Johnny was consumed with business while Kristina plunged into regret and alienation.

"I would kill him if he wasn't your brother. I would," Johnny muttered. He leaned against the bar, his brawn arms holding him up as he contemplated in quiet rage. "But it's not about killing him. It's about territory…"

Kristina glared. "I'm sorry to get in the way of your plans. I don't know how many times I can tell you I don't care to hear of your business with Michael or my family."

Johnny twisted his face as he downed a shot of whiskey. His bare chest shone in the night lightning, misted with sweat. His intensity did little to alarm Kristina. "Things are happening, Kristina. You need to be careful. I don't want you getting caught in the middle…"

"I know, John. I'm a Corinthos for God's sake…"

"You're a Zacchara!" he shouted. As if supporting his claim the thunder clashed above and lightening encompassed his enraged face. Kristina shuddered slightly but was too stubborn to show her fear. She watched as Johnny took a deep breath, recovering his composure. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

Kristina took one more look at the storm. She waited for one more strike of lightning. And then with a sigh she put down the poison, leaving her glass at the bar next to her husband. "I'm going to bed, John," she told him.

He was silent while she left and as she climbed up the stairs to their bedroom, she stared at the ring on her finger. The diamond made her twist with shame and fear. It wasn't John Zacchara she feared. It was the idea that her marriage meant as little as her name. For no matter what she did, no matter how drastic the attempt, or how vicious her vengeance, she would always be the same.

She would always be a Corinthos.


	2. Before It's Too Late

_So I guess this is turning into more of a story than I thought. Anyway this is probably my fastest update ever. Keep the reviews coming ;)_

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**Before It's Too Late**

Behind the tinted windows of a black Cadillac, Alexander Morgan lit his third cigarette of the night. He exhaled through the small opening of his window, doing his best to avoid the rain. Four hours had passed and he remained static in his position, eyes set on the dark shadows that moved about the docks. It was a dull, boring, wet night, but much like his father, patience was at the center of his being. His fierce blue gaze remained trained on his targets with steady confidence, knowing that when the moment came, he would be ready to act.

The twenty-two year old son of Port Charles most famed Jason and Samantha Morgan was out on his own merit. In fact, though his parents were a known mobster and expert con artist, thief, private investigator (you name it), they detested the idea of any of their children falling into the dangers and disadvantages of their former lifestyles. For the most part the power couple was successful. Alex's older brother, the golden, amiable, and successful Jason Morgan Jr., was saving lives daily at General Hospital while his sister Emily found her niche managing business with ELQ. And then there was Alex. The youngest, the adventurous, the restless Morgan son couldn't help but lead a path of trouble. More than the rest of his siblings, Alex was a McCall (or a McBain more accurately) and for that he was forever treading in a search for his identity through trouble and mishap.

He stiffened in his seat as the men hovering around the docks lurked back to their car. It was a white sedan and Alex had already taken a mental note of its license plate number, make, and model. While he wasn't the doctor of the family, Alex still harbored the same wit as his brother and sister, making him all the more lethal. As they pulled away he flicked his cigarette out the window and checked his weapon at the waistband of his jeans. He zipped up his leather jacket, shielding himself from the rain, and easily left the security of his car.

Like his mother before him, Alex was quickly drawn to the clandestine. After suffering through three years of college at his parents' insistence, he'd resurrected McCall Jackal Private Investigations and drove the firm to new heights. Not only did the company run investigations but Alex proudly added surveillance and security to his repertoire. With a gun at his waist, well-toned muscles, a taste for adrenaline, and a chilling confidence, he was living up to every assumption anyone would have made about his lineage. It seemed more so than Jack or Emily, he had turned out most like their parents.

Alex weaved in and out of the many crates that cluttered the pier, not stopping until he reached the box that had captivated the attention of his characters of interest. Already his honey brown hair was drenched by the rain and the leather jacket was doing little to protect him from the weather. The wind blew more fiercely near the water and Alex made an effort to work quickly under such uncomfortable conditions. He expertly pulled out a crow bar and with well harnessed strength cracked open the lid of the crate. Before he could peer inside for a look, a distinct voice broke over the rain.

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air!"

"Fuck," Alex cursed, quickly dropping the crow bar.

"Don't even think of running, I already know it's you Alex," the police officer warned, heels clicking on the wet pavement with each step closer.

"Come on, Emma," he grumbled, turning to face her with hands on his head.

"That's private property and you know it," she told him.

"I'm on a job. I have permission to…"

"Save it," she cut him off, yanking down one of his arms and snapping on a metal cuff.

Alex glared and hissed. "You could be a little more gentle," he suggested.

"Don't be such a girl," she taunted, securing him in handcuffs. The pair was soaked from head to toe, disgruntled in their positions as cop and robber.

"Please Emma…" Alex tried again.

"Stop," she warned, "And it's Detective Scorpio-Drake, thank you."

"Oh you're a detective now. Well, excuse me," he teased as she roughly pulled him back toward her patrol car.

Emma had learned early on that one of the disadvantages with being family friends with so many of Port Charles' notorious was having to arrest their children. In her first year of work with the PCPD she had taken at least one member of every family in the city into custody and the youngest Morgan son was making her list as a frequent flyer. It didn't help that her grandfather Mac Scorpio was married to Alex's grandmother, making them step-cousins or something of the sort. Yes, it was going to be another awkward Christmas.

"Please don't tell my parents," Alex sighed from the backseat of the patrol car.

She rolled her eyes. "We're adults. I'm not going to tell on you."

"It's appreciated."

While her parents had both chosen a medical profession, Emma followed a path more consistent with the legacy of her spy ancestry. In fact, in many ways she was similar to Alex, which is why she sympathized every time she had to watch him from her rearview mirror. For Emma joining the PCPD was only a small step in her aspirations to one day reach the same level as Robert and Anna by securing a place with a federal agency. That, and of course, one day solving the mystery of her mother's untimely death. Robin's passing haunted her at all times, consuming every step she'd taken since adolescence. Emma had vowed to get revenge on those responsible for her death, a secret she kept well-guarded but always at the forefront of her career.

"What do we have here?"

The PCPD was surprisingly mundane and Emma's arrival with Alex was greeted with pent up enthusiasm. The Chief of Police almost immediately recognized the suspect and sighed. "Alex," he said.

"Dante," Alex muttered with a nod. "I've been trying to tell Emma I didn't do anything wrong…"

The petite detective left him no time to talk, rudely interrupting by jerking him toward the interrogation room. "He was caught tampering with private property on the docks," Emma told her superior. Dante followed the pair into the small room, closing the door behind them.

"This true Alex?" he asked.

"I wasn't tampering. I was hired to check things out," Alex sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Are these cuffs necessary?"

"I was starting my stake out when I saw him," Emma explained to Dante, ignoring Alex's question.

"Yeah starting it too late. The guys you were looking for already left. I spent four hours watching dock 17," Alex replied.

"Why?"

"I told you, PI work," he groaned. "Can I call a lawyer? Better yet I can call the person who owns the crates and clear this up…"

"Fine, call a lawyer," Dante sighed. He gave Alex a fatherly look before departing. "Your parents wouldn't be happy with this."

Alex rolled his steely blue eyes as the pair departed.

Dante Falconeri was going on his fourth year as Chief of Police for the PCPD and in his time with the station, it was an understatement to say he was happy in his place. Mac Scorpio's retirement didn't leave Dante as an exact favorite for the position, but with a few good words from the mayor and his successful mob takedowns, he took over the small station. It was good timing. The hours were better. Lulu worried less and he was given more time with his children. It'd been a challenge in the beginning to balance detective and father, but his new, advisory position was a welcome reprieve. While he missed the dirty, rewarding work of the streets, training the next generation of law enforcers brought a new kind of delight.

"Emma, what's the story?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing wasting time with Alex Morgan?" Dante sighed.

"He was snooping around private property…"

"He's harmless. You know this is going to all check out, he'll go free, and you wasted a night of surveillance at the docks during a crucial period," he said.

"Crucial period? It's more like the Cold War around town with Corinthos and Zacchara…" Emma saw the frustration in Dante's eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir. I know I wasted time. I guess I was becoming anxious…"

Dante nodded in understanding. "Patience," he advised, "always patience with the mob. It's not going to be a burning bush. Trust me, it's not all shootouts and body bags. They'll make their move but we need to be vigilant and avoid distractions."

"Yes sir."

"It's okay Drake. We'll clear this up and I want you back out there," Dante advised.

The determined brunette, a sweet mixture of Robin's mousy qualities and Patrick's dark features, nodded ardently. "Thank you," she said.

"What's going on? We finally have someone I can prosecute?"

Stalking into the PCPD, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loose, and shoes scuffled, was Morgan Corinthos. His mouth fell into a self-satisfied smirk, dimples deep with amusement.

"And here's our favorite Assistant District Attorney," Dante rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "Do you ever go home?"

"Do you?" Morgan teased. He smiled at Emma. "How's your night?"

"It's been better. I just brought in Alex for tampering with private property," she answered him. "He's in there making his phone call."

"So I imagine there's little for me to do," Morgan said.

"Makes two of us. It's a slow week," Dante sighed as he started down the hall.

"More like a slow month," Morgan called after him. "Tell Lulu I send my best."

"Will do. Emma, I want the paperwork on my desk for this before you go back out!"

The two waited for Dante to disappear before Morgan slyly looped an arm around Emma's waist. With a smooth swoop he captured her lips with his, stealing a kiss before she could squirm away. "I'm at work," she warned.

"I know me too," Morgan winked.

"You think you're so cute," Emma said.

"Aren't I?"

"And so humble," she teased.

"Brilliant too," Morgan smiled. "Did I hear Dante say you're going back out?"

"I have surveillance at the docks," Emma told him.

"So you won't be home tonight?"

"I'm afraid not."

Morgan gave a dissatisfied grumble, running a hand through his dark hair. "I think I'm going to have a word with my brother about giving you these ridiculous hours…"

"You wouldn't dare," Emma warned.

Though they'd been dating for over a year, Morgan could still rouse Emma like they were just starting their flirtation. It had taken him two years to court her. He was fresh out of law school, eagerly arriving as an assistant to the DA while Emma had just accepted her badge a patrol officer. They were an unlikely match but his enthusiasm coupled with her reserved nature held them in a tender balance. Her father was skeptical at first, not wanting his only daughter dating a mob boss' son, but Morgan proved time and time again he was nothing like his father. Much like Dante, Morgan kept a firm stance on the side of justice and law abiding. He made a point to keep at a distance from his father. The only sign that he was of Sonny Corinthos' lineage was his looks. The thirty-three year old was a spitting image of his father.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a coy voice broke in behind them.

Approaching with a slim briefcase in hand, heels clipping on the station floor, suit pristine and pearls straightened around her neck was Alex Morgan's lawyer. She tucked a loos piece of bouncy brown hair behind her ear and gave the couple a knowing smile.

"Molly," Morgan greeted. "I should have known you'd be here."

"I understand there's a problem with my nephew – I mean, client," she said.

"I took him into custody for tampering with private property," Emma spoke up.

"Whose property exactly?"

"Corinthos' shipments at dock 17," she replied.

Molly rolled her eyes as she moved for the interrogation room where Alex waited. "Do you really have nothing better to do Drake?" she asked. Before Morgan could defend his girlfriend, Molly held up a hand. "You two wait here. I'm sure it will only take a few minutes to clear this up."

Alex immediately grinned at Molly's arrival in the interrogation room. It was rather endearing to think that she'd spent years changing his diapers and now in some ways, she still cleaned up her young nephew's messes. Well, it was endearing the first few times…

"What are you grinning about?" Molly asked.

"I'm just happy to see you," Alex said.

"Well, don't be. Sam is going to be so angry when she finds out that…"

"But she's not going to find out!" Alex nearly shouted. "Please, aunt Molly, please, please, please."

"Alex, this is becoming too common of an occurrence. It's one thing to be a private investigator but it's a complete other to constantly be in trouble with the law," Molly sighed. "I've told you before there's plenty of work at the law firm that could use a private investigator and I'd be happy to hire you…"

"I'm not going to do boring paperwork at a law firm."

"Well, I'm not always going to be here to come bail you out," she narrowed her stare. "Now, you want to explain what was going on?"

"I asked Michael for work…"

"Of course you did. I pray to God he didn't give in."

"Not exactly. He said I could check into some of his shipments. He said some of his imports had been short lately and he was worried someone was messing with his business. So I did staked out one of his docks and the minute I go to check the shipment, Emma cuffs me. Simple misunderstanding."

Molly already had out her phone, rolling her eyes as she dialed Michael's number. She flicked the side of Alex's head. "Couldn't you have handled this yourself? Call him, not me next time," she sighed. "Hello? Michael, yeah I'm here with Alex at the PCPD…"

As predicted it only took Molly a few minutes to clear the storm for Alex. The veteran lawyer handed the phone over to Emma, giving Morgan a cheeky smile as she did so. "Your brother says hello," Molly told him.

"You still doing his dirty work as well?" Morgan asked.

"It's not dirty work," Molly said, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry I'm good at what I do."

"You got lucky last week," he told her, folding his arms across his chest. It was a common occurrence for Molly and Morgan to go head to head in the courtroom. They had grown up together but litigating against one another left plenty of room for friendly smack talk. Alexis taught both of them all she knew and while it seemed unlikely that Morgan would choose public service and Molly the path of mob lawyer, but once passing the bar, they'd gone their separate ways and now battled almost weekly.

"I wouldn't call it luck, Morgan. You should just make sure there are no technicalities that could let my client off the hook while you're building a case. Surely my mother taught you that," Molly quipped as she casually rummaged through her briefcase.

"Michael and the rest of the organization don't deserve to have you on their side. I don't know how you sleep at night," he said. It was a low blow but something about seeing Molly work with Michael made him seethe with simultaneous guilt and anger.

"I sleep fine. In fact, I would think you're the one with sleeping problems considering you leave Michael and your father out to dry. I mean, it's bad enough he has Dante trying to bring him down, but you too? He's your brother, Morgan. He always did everything he could for you," Molly said coldly.

"I'm not trying to bring him down. It's not my fault he chose the life he did," Morgan replied more bitterly than he intended. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about so you best leave it alone."

"I do know what I'm talking about. You still have your brother. I lost Kristina to Johnny and she's never coming back. If I were you I would connect with my family before it's too late," Molly told him. Morgan's jaw hitched in an angry scowl and before he could growl out a response, Emma approached with a fresh file and a defeated sigh.

"Alex is free to go," she announced. "Dante already signed off on the release papers. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"Don't apologize for doing your job, sweetie," Morgan muttered, his glare still stuck on Molly. Emma's brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced between the two.

"I'll uh go get Alex out of those cuffs," Emma said, quickly skirting off.

"I don't want to fight with you Morgan. We've been friends for years. We're cousins," Molly sighed.

"Clearly I wouldn't know what family means, would I?" Morgan glared.

Thundering into the room with frantic energy was Dante. Two officers were quick at his heels, continuing out to patrol cars while the chief barked more orders over his phone. Molly and Morgan watched in confusion as he tried to catch his breath.

"What the hell is going on?" Emma asked as she scanned the station, watching as more officers scrambled out. Alex followed closely behind her, stopping next to Molly and Morgan who waited for a moment to ask Dante the reason for such commotion.

"Drake, you and I are taking a car to 18th and Belmont," Dante said. He yelled a few more things into the phone before ending the call.

"What's going on?" Emma asked.

"Car explosion," he answered. "We have at least one dead and now gunfire is being exchanged."

"The mob?" Molly asked.

Dante swallowed hard. "Presumably," he said.

"I should call my dad," Alex muttered, stepping away from the group.

Emma checked her gun while Dante placed one hand on Morgan's shoulder and his other on Molly's. "One of you needs to call Kristina," he said low enough so only the three of them could hear.

"Why? What's going on?" Molly asked. Morgan was silent as if he already knew the answer. His heart was racing and a lump formed in his throat. He knew the moment he saw the panic in Dante's eyes. Still he prayed that he was wrong.

"Dad was in the car," Dante said.

Morgan's ears were ringing. His head felt light and he suddenly was overcome with nausea. He could hear Molly gasp next to him and braced himself on the nearby desk. "Is he okay?" he managed to choke.

"I don't know. They took him to General Hospital. Morgan, you need to go," Dante told him. He squeezed his shoulder tighter. "Both of you. Go."

Molly nodded ardently while Morgan tried to calm himself with shallow breaths. He hardly remembered Dante and Emma dashing out or Molly leading him to her car. All he knew was that suddenly his world was spinning. All he knew was that he may have turned his back on his father but he didn't want him dead. He shook his head.

Sonny Corinthos couldn't die.


	3. Fallen Star

_Michael Corinthos coming at you! Still working out the details about who's going to be in the story or not. Honestly keeping it hidden from myself (if that makes any sense) is what keeps me writing and interested, so this isn't very planned out. Hope to continue seeing reviews. Thanks._

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**Fallen Star**

It was common occurrence for Michael Corinthos III to find solace in an evening walk. Hands deep in the pockets of his slacks, his suit black as though he were coming from a funeral, shoulders hunched against the New York chill, he went about his business in silence and solitude. Aside from the two body guards trailing him at twenty yards distance, he was always alone. The fact that half the city feared him and the other half loathed him helped to maintain the isolation he found such peace in.

Though he wasn't quite yet forty years old, Michael had the experience and sense of a man twice his age. It only seemed suiting, considering he'd observed Port Charles' most successful mafia bosses since childhood. Those keen observations and reflections, along with the damage of his tumultuous growth into a young adult, molded him into one of the most respected bosses on the east coast. Like his father, he was feared, ruthless, and at times unpredictable. Like Jason Morgan he was meticulous, rational, and unemotional in his work. Michael harnessed the best of both strategies. He was fair, smart, and professional about all Corinthos organization affairs and for that earned a reputation of esteem.

Anyone who truly knew the mob boss, not those who observed him from a frightened distance, frowned on him with pity whenever he passed. It was apparent the man was suffering with just a single glance into his eyes. In his eyes one could see all the stories. The pain of each was enough to captivate a lifetime but Michael withstood many. From his dramatic childhood of kidnappings and parental feuds to his adolescence spent in a coma after a bullet to the brain, to the brutal murder of his step-mother and the imprisonment and rape that followed, to the loss of his first love after recovery, Michael had endured tragedy time and time again. And yet the pain that haunted him most deeply, gnawing at his heart and leading him down the street in a somber haze, was the last blow he could take.

The loss of his Starr.

Perhaps they'd moved to fast. They were hurting, recovering from deceased loved ones. And yet they healed each other. Michael buried his soul into the last safe place and Starr cowered into him like a haven in a storm. They fit each other. In fact, Michael didn't doubt that she was the only one to understand him. They were married by the time he was twenty-six. The ceremony was small and though Todd had thrown a fit, Starr became his wife and accepted all the dramatics that were his life.

It wasn't the business that killed her. He was always worried it would be. Working for his father wasn't his first choice, but Michael found it a simple, rewarding place. He managed a string of warehouses around the waterfront and with a well-developed business sense, attended to Sonny's investments and exchanges with newfound interest. If the Corinthos Organization was a company, Michael was surely on his way to becoming executive vice president.

All the while Starr struggled to find a new spot in his life. Marriage was an adjustment and while Michael enjoyed his work and coming home to a blushing bride, Starr found the guards and hours restraining. Her dreams were on the road, chasing a career as a musician. With Michael she was stuck and it wasn't long before she was resentful. Soon he came to represent the force holding her back from singing her way to fame. He was a successful provider, a tender lover, and a loyal companion, but it couldn't sustain her.

The minute Cole Corinthos entered the world, however, everything changed. Starr was a mother again. The baby boy was water in a drought. Michael reveled in the place of father and Starr found peace in another child. For a little while, they were happy again. Hardly a year later Caroline was born. But even with such joy, the peace of family life proved only temporary.

It wasn't long before Starr's frustration and resentment returned. While Michael left for long shifts and meetings at his father's side, Starr was at home, drinking, loathing her existence as a trapped housewife. Even now, Michael bullied himself for not seeing the signs. She was a good mother. Cole and Caroline were always at the forefront of Starr's attention but when maternal duty eased with the help of nannies and helpers, she wandered into depression and the poison that would one day ruin her; cocaine.

By the time Michael realized all that was wrong, which took a shamefully longtime as his role in the Corinthos organization became more prominent, there was no chance at winning Starr back. She refused treatment and when Michael prepared to forcibly instate her, she was gone.

John Fucking Zacchara.

It was too much of a coincidence for Michael that the man was suddenly making appearances in his wife's life up to the night of her death. Johnny would still feed Starr wild fantasies of pursuing a singing career and in the heat of their arguments it wasn't uncommon for her to use reference to him in the heat of battle; _"Johnny supports my music, why can't you! You're my husband!"_

The simple phrase was usually enough to send Michael fuming from the house. By that time Johnny and Michael weren't yet sworn enemies but the Zacchara organization still lingered as a threat. Catching the mob prince talking with his wife turned Michael's stomach hard. He knew Johnny was just trying to get to him. But what he hated most was that Starr refused to realize Johnny's motives. She truly believed her life was still out there waiting for her. That Michael had trapped her with his business and their children. She buried herself in drugs and isolation.

Until one night she broke.

Michael found her overdosed in their bedroom. He knew the moment he saw her that she was gone. And he knew that he was gone too. He spent nights hating himself for not getting her help. For not saving her. For being at work too long and for failing to give her what she wanted. And his sadness became hatred. Hatred at the last man to see Starr only hours before her death.

John Fucking Zacchara.

In his depression, in his anger, and revenge, Michael Corinthos accepted Jason Morgan's offer to head the organization. He had little else to invest his spirit in. Starr's mother, Blair, took the children. The custody battle had been an absolute mess. Carly was ready to murder Blair herself. But in the end a mob boss with no mother was not suited to raise young children. Cole and Caroline Corinthos went to live with their grandmother in Pennsylvania, separated indefinitely from their father.

And so Michael Corinthos III was alone. He had his family but even now that seemed sparse. His brothers, Dante and Morgan, wanted little to do with him as they fought to bring down his illegal activities. His sister, Kristina, had married his sworn enemy. All that was left were his parents. Carly checked in on him religiously, scared that one day he would find a reason to stop getting out of bed in the morning. Between him and his father, there was newfound common ground. Sonny understood his son's pain all too well but the two said nothing of it.

Yes, the only place Michael could find solitude was in a breezy walk, with no one to remind him of his shattered past or the ugliness that dictated his lifestyle. As a light sprinkle of rain misted down on his withdrawn face, he slipped into Kelly's, one of the many things that hadn't change in Port Charles despite the wear of many years. The diner was sparsely occupied. A young couple sat in the corner and a man at the counter. Michael gave them friendly nod, but without any effort to be conspicuous, the patrons made a fast exit.

"Uncle Michael," an expecting voice greeted. Popping out from the kitchen and greeting the mob boss void of the fear most viewed him with, was one of Kelly's young waiters. "It's good to see you."

"Evening Dominic," Michael said. He thought of offering a meek smile but as usual, his mouth refused to take the shape. Instead he gave his nephew an approving nod. He took a seat at the counter, while his bodyguards waited outside.

"Can I get you the usual?"

"Please," he nodded. The social interaction was already too much but Michael felt like being gracious. Lulu and Dante's oldest son and middle child was of the few who didn't seem to have a problem with his choices. In fact, though Dante discouraged it, Dominic seemed to idolize his uncle Michael for unknown reasons. For this, especially in a world where so many turned a back to him, Michael was grateful. "How's your brother Angelo?"

"Good. He's not working tonight, he's got baseball practice," Dominic answered from the kitchen. The nineteen year old slapped two cheeseburgers onto the grill and dunked in a fresh batch of fires.

"You still studying at PCU?"

"Yep and flipping burgers to pay the rent. Mom insists I can live at home but I've got to get out of there or I'll go nuts," Dominic said. "I'm staying in an apartment with a buddy."

"Well I hope you still see your mother from time to time. I know Lulu, I think she'd kill you if you think you can just up and move out of the house."

"Oh no worries, I see her all the time. I got to get a decent meal from somewhere. We can't all survive on chili, fries, and burgers," he teased as he continued filling Michael's order. "How are things with you?"

"Fine, thank you for asking," Michael replied.

Dominic's dark brown eyes caught a glint of the light, revealing a childlike enthusiasm as he pondered his next question. He licked his lip and anxiously crossed his arms across his chest. "You know, I hear a lot of things around here about the business, and I was just wondering how things were going? I mean, Kristina comes in here from time to time and she doesn't say much. It's like she doesn't even know who we are anymore. And I hear old Johnny Zacchara is going to make a move on…"

"I don't like to talk about business, Dominic," Michael cut him off dryly. When his eyes met his nephew's they were infused with coldness that suggested nothing more was to be said.

"Of course," he nodded. "Sorry."

The two existed in silence as Dominic finished packing the burgers, fries, and a bowl of chili into a to-go bag. "Thank you," Michael said. He gave a sigh. "I'm sure Dante tell you all the time, but I hope you're careful, Dominic. Curiosity has been known to be lethal. "

Dominic nodded. "I know. Have a good night," he told him. Michael slowly made his way through the empty diner, stopping only when Dominic anxiously spoke up. "Uncle Michael, if there's ever a chance for me to help out, you know, get a job under you or something…"

"No," Michael almost shouted. He turned to face Dominic with a face void of emotion and hardened by all that consumed him. His eyes narrowed on the young man with vehemence. "You don't want to be involved in this business. You may think you want to, but you don't. I wouldn't let you. You understand?"

"Yes," Dominic said gently.

Michael tried to soften his composure as to not appear completely dispassionate. He nodded, slowly shifting his dinner to his other hand. "Good. Keep studying. You'll find an honest, rewarding living. I don't want to hear these thoughts from you again. Dante would kill you."

"Yeah," Dominic agreed again. "You're right. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay, I just want what's best for you…"

Before more could be said, one of Michael's bodyguards, a hefty retired linebacker named Iggy, hurled through the diner doors, eyes wild with intensity. "Mr. Corinthos," he breathed. "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Michael asked. He was already tensed and ready. Suddenly he was the Corinthos everyone expected him to be. He was ready to be as ruthless and cold as he needed to insure the stability of his business. A spurt of adrenaline warmed through his veins, the familiar vile that sustained him through every tragedy. He was prepared for the worst because in his thirty-eight short years, he'd already experienced the worst. Behind him Dominic tried to listen in, eyes wide and engaged.

Iggy shook his head. "It's your father. Someone blew up his car. His guards are both dead. Police are there now. What do you want to do?"

Two options existed for Michael. Find the bastards who made a move against his father and his empire or go to the hospital to see him for what could possibly be the last time.

But for the mob boss, for the head of the Corinthos organization, for one of the youngest, most respected east coast bosses, there existed only one option: retribution.

"Get the car ready and call TJ. Now's the best chance we have at finding who did this."

Without a word Michael turned his back on his nephew, leaving his dinner on the table.


	4. Sins of the Past

_This one is really short but I just wanted to post something and keep the momentum going. Thanks! Reviews are greatly appreciated._

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**Sins of the Past**

It was hour eleven.

Suddenly every warning they'd given him in medical school was ringing true. As he desperately downed another coffee, Dr. Jason Morgan Jr. fought against every thought of fatigue that bullied his head. His shoulders slumped downward, his feet were sore, and he was losing the patience necessary to maintain pleasant bedside manner.

"You're looking tired, Jack," Patrick Drake said, entering the lounge behind him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, immediately straightening up at the arrival of his superior.

Patrick Drake, the General Hospital's longtime chief of staff, though aged was still one of the most respected neurosurgeons in the country. This coupled with the fact that he wielded an extensive amount of power over the still novice Dr. Morgan kept Jack always on his toes. Patrick, however charming, skilled, and admirable as he was, had seemed to ride Jack the moment he became a resident at the General Hospital. It wasn't that he didn't have a reason. In fact the reasons were endless. For starters Jack was a Quartermaine, meaning he basically had a key to anything he wanted in the hospital, coming from the worshiped lineage of the Quartermaine doctors. If that wasn't enough reason for Patrick to ride him, there was also the mere detail that he was Jason Morgan's oldest son and though Patrick had saved Jason's life on more than one occasion, there was still a deep seeded animosity between the two men.

And so Jack - he was called Jack to avoid confusion with Jason Sr. - was forever under the watchful eye of Patrick who seemed determined to watch him fail. "I want you doing rounds after you're done here. And then check up on that transplant patient from earlier."

"You done for the night?" Jack asked.

"Just a few administrative duties to take care of," Patrick replied. He slowly turned to face the resident doctor. It never failed to shock him how similar the young man looked to his father. He had the same blue eyes, the same sculpted jaw line and wide shoulders, spiky dark blonde hair, and even the same voice. The only thing different about Jack was he'd clearly inherited the softness of his mother. His smile, his laugh, his sense of compassion, and willingness to learn and try again, those qualities were all clearly Sam. Patrick shook his head. "I see you applied for a rotation in neurosurgery…"

Jack quickly perked up, setting his coffee down. "Yeah," he nodded. "I've just enjoyed my surgery rotation so much and I know it's a competitive specialty…"

"It's a very competitive specialty," Patrick confirmed seriously. "I have a pool of sixteen other applicants who are vying for a spot with me, including the chief resident."

"Well, I hope you will give my application careful consideration," Jack replied calmly.

Patrick smirked as he slowly poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. "You know, I never took you for a surgery man, Jack."

"Why's that?"

"Well…"

The lounge door opened behind them and skidding in was a petite nurse in pale pink scrubs. Flaxen blonde hair was tied behind her head and with a pair of wide hazel eyes she alerted Patrick of the chaos now crashing through the lobby. "Dr. Drake we have two GSWs incoming and a car explosion victim. There's a multitude of third degree burns and EMTs are projecting at least a few broken ribs, collapsed lung, and possible intracranial bleeding…"

Patrick was already at the door, stethoscope slung around his neck. "Laura get the burn unit on call. And page Dr. Lowenstein," he ordered. Before leaving to meet his latest patients, he glanced back at Jack. "Dr. Morgan, you're still on call aren't you? Come on, I'm going to need you to scrub in."

Jack eagerly dashed after Patrick, Laura Falconeri following close behind the pair. The young nurse, Dante and Lulu's oldest child and only daughter, was still fresh in her first month as a nurse. She was the top of her class and now eagerly hit the ground running in the chaos of the General Hospital. It was simple icing on the cake that working in surgery put her side by side with her boyfriend; Dr. Jack Morgan.

"What do we have here?" Patrick asked as he met the gurneys storming through the lobby.

"Bullet to the shoulder, passed through clean.."

"Then what the hell is he doing in surgery?" Patrick snapped. "We have a limited number of surgeons on hand. You take him down to the trauma unit and stitched there, I've told you before we don't have time for this in surgery…"

While Laura scooted off to fetch the necessary supplies, Jack's attention flinched away from Patrick and stuck on the second gurney and the woman hovering anxiously next to it. Kate Howard-Corinthos. While she wasn't the family's closest friend, Jack was always polite as his mother forced him to say hello to her every time they were in proximity. She was Sonny's longtime wife – the longest he'd ever had – and now, covered in soot and rain she stood completely overcome with terror.

"Kate," Jack muttered in confusion as he stepped for the gurney she stood next to. It wasn't until then he realized the man bleeding and burnt on the sheets was none other than Sonny, his father's closest friend and ally. Sonny, the man that always brought generous gifts to him and his brother and sister for birthdays and holidays, was in attendance at every large gathering, wrote Jack a large check as a graduation gift, and kept a watchful eye on the entire Morgan clan. Though Jason would never admit it, Jack came to understand over the years that for a number of reasons, the former mob boss owed his life to his father, and for that was never scant with his kindness or presence. "What happened?"

"He went to pull the car around and there-there was an explosion," Kate sniffled.

Patrick now moved over, pulling out a flashlight and scanning it over Sonny's face. "Sonny? Sonny can you hear me?"

Jack swallowed hard, embarrassed but unable to hold back his question. "Kate, were my parents there?"

Too horrified, the poor woman couldn't manage the answer. Her make-up was smeared, her clothes soaked, and she appeared completely lost. Still, Jack's thoughts were tangled with the well-being of his parents. If Sonny was being targeted, it wasn't unlikely that Jason and Sam were also on the list. Though the couple was "retired" from the business it meant little to the crime world. Grounding Jack back to the task at hand, however, was a tight grip on his wrist.

"Jason," Sonny choked from the bed. He was in and out of consciousness, face smeared in his own blood and ash. His left arm and side were burned and there was little known about the state of his legs. The rest of him was battered and bruised. From just a little inference, Jack would say Sonny was thrown from the car after catching the first hit of the car bomb. If it wasn't for the fact that the mobster had lived through just about every gunshot wound and injury imaginable, Jack would have called a man his age dead on arrival. Now groaning on the sheets, he stared up at Jack with glassy eyes, "Jason…Jason, I…"

"Sonny, it's me Jack, you're at the General Hospital. You've been in an accident."

"Jason," Sonny continued insisting, still confused. It was an easy mistake. Jack was a spitting image of his father twenty years ago. He decided to avoid correcting the wounded Sonny.

"Take him into OR 3. Kate, we'll let you know…"

Kate watched as the entourage of medics went off with her husband, anxiously ringing her hands together with their departure. A familiar wave of nausea and uncertainty was quickly overtaking her. The adrenaline that had kept her warm in the ambulance ride was wearing off and she shivered beneath her clothes. All she knew was that she couldn't lose Sonny. For past twelve years the man had been her rock. They'd been through hell and back together but through everything, he'd stayed adamant at her side. He'd seen her through the worst of her DID and she'd stormed through every tragedy and outburst he ever had. She'd felt slight relief when he finally left the business but deep down she always knew it would never be far from them. He would always be the man who murdered and committed crimes. He couldn't escape the sins of the past and as his wife, neither could Kate.


End file.
